


Such Sweet Sorrow

by Idrelle_Miocovani



Series: Arrow of Carnations [9]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Romance, get your tissues it's time for a solas break up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-29 21:57:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20089402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idrelle_Miocovani/pseuds/Idrelle_Miocovani
Summary: A letter from Josephine's mother sends her fledgling relationship into a downward spiral.





	Such Sweet Sorrow

Josephine stares at the letter, lips pursed, brows knitted together. 

The parchment is smooth and fresh beneath her fingers, barely creased despite its journey over land and sea. The tell-tale scent of her mother’s perfume lingers on the page. She could identify the letter’s origin anywhere, without the Montilyet seal and the familiar curve of her mother’s penmanship. 

She reads the words, then reads them again, trying desperately the curb the panic rising in her chest. She glances away, gazing around her study for a distraction, a way out, something to shield her from the news written so primly on the letter. Rain lashes against the window, a bright flash of lightning streaking across the dark violet sky. The accompanying roll of thunder echoes several heartbeats after. 

Josephine exhales sharply and pushes her chair back, skidding across the floor. She folds the letter meticulously, then folds it again, and again, finally shoving it beneath a paperweight for safe keeping. If she could, she would set it on fire with her reading candle, but she may need to reference it later. Not that she could ever forget her mother’s resounding words. Still, she must forbid herself the satisfaction of burning the damn thing now to save herself the embarrassment of admitting to its destruction later. 

Lightning flashes, thunder booms and Josephine shivers. She wraps her arms around herself and listens to the pounding rain beyond the walls. Nature’s divine fury, her mother once called it, beaming with pride at the touch of poetics in her phrasing. Josephine rolled her eyes behind her mother’s back, giggling into her hand as she exchanged looks with her brother Laurien. 

She sweeps across the study, pushing the door open and enters her chambers. The space is bright with flickering candlelight, a fire roaring in the hearth to keep it warm. She paces, walking a large circle around the room, bare feet padding over cold stone, then warm rugs, then cold stone again. 

_Why throw this on me now, Mama?_ _Now, of all moments? Can’t you see there are more important things to worry about?_

She rubs her arms, heat flaring at the friction, and purses her lips. She should know better than to read letters from home so late in the evening, but with the number of Inquisition correspondences for which she was responsible, the evening was the only time she could devote to her personal mail. Most of the time, she looked forward to it. Yvette sent frivolous things, describing the latest gossip from Antiva City in savagely comprehensive detail. Laurien focused on developments within their trading company, while Antoine begged for any details on the Orlesian court. 

And then Mama wrote. 

She knew the letter’s arrival was as ominous as the storm clouds gathering around the mountain peaks. 

_Get a hold of yourself,_ she chided. _It’s not nearly as bad as you think, only… unfair._

Unfair. 

At the risk of sounding like a petulant child, it _was_ unfair. Unfair timing. Unfair ruling. Unfair dismissal of her own wants and desires— 

Not that she had been forthright about what those were. 

How could she describe them in a letter? _My sincerest apologies, Mama, but I must refuse the proposal that has been enacted upon without my consent. I am infatuated with a man who has no surname and no origin, no claim to anything beyond the clothes on his back. Have I mentioned he is an elven apostate?_

It is an impossibility. One she is ignoring; one she _chose_ to ignore for quite some time now. Solas and her family. Like two pieces from different puzzles, destined never to fit together. 

_Stupid, stupid, stupid—_

A polite knock on her door. Josephine spins, mouth open, eyes wide—and stands still. Her heart flutters and a smile pulls at the corners of her lips. Even after all this time, even with her permission to come and go as he pleased, he still always knocks. 

“I’m… here,” she says. 

The door swings open, its distinctive creak drowned in a fresh roll of thunder. 

Solas steps into the room, his outercoat damp with rain. He removes it, padding across the room on bare feet, and hangs it across the back of the couch in front of the fire. 

“Outside?” Josephine asks. “At this time of night?” 

Solas runs a hand over his head, wiping off droplets of rainwater that cling to his skin. “There is power in storms such as these,” he says. “Spirits are drawn to it. The land speaks in many ways. There are different stories to listen to, to dream of…” 

She smiles, enraptured by the lilt of his voice, the refreshing change in topic—then the smile fades as she thinks, once again, of how to inform her family that she cannot proceed with their plans due to her own entanglement with a mage who calls spirits friends.

Mama would throw a fit. 

Mama _deserved_ a fit. 

Solas’ voice fades. “Josephine?” 

The question lingers in the air. A silent _something has happened, are you all right?_

She purses her lips and shakes her head, tears prickling the corners of her eyes. She places her hands on either side of his face and draws him to her, lips pressed to his, a fierceness in her kiss. He clutches her, a hand on her back, pulling her in. He is cold from the rain and the wind, the crisp, earthy scent of the forest clinging to him. She breathes it in and exhales softly, a wordless tremble in her voice. She melts into the familiar comfort of his embrace. 

Josephine breaks the kiss and rests her forehead against his. She wants to be close to him, for as long as she can. “My mother has written.” 

“And it is not welcome, I take it?” he replies. “I must admit, I am surprised at your tone. You are close to your family, I know this—but your mother brings you no joy?” 

“Oh, she’s fine,” Josephine breathes. “But a bringer of joy is not how I would describe her. More a bringer of… demands.” She leans into him, head resting against his shoulder, arms wrapped tightly around him. “She has plans. Grand plans. Plans that will no doubt be of great benefit to the family. She has informed me of my… role… within them.” 

“Which is?” 

“I’m betrothed.” She’s surprised at how calmly she states it. “To a count. Count Ortranto. I knew him once, long ago… We were children. But he is a stranger now, and I…” The words fall apart. “It will take some time to undo this. I’m sorry.” 

He draws away, hand lingering on hers. “You wish to… stop this.” 

Josephine swallows hard. The fierce prickling in her eyes has returned. “I’m sorry, Solas, but I cannot be with you while this betrothal stands. If it were for propriety’s sake alone, I wouldn’t care. But it isn’t. My family’s reputation is a stake. If I am seen engaged in…” Why was it awkward? Why did she have to make it awkward? Her gut churned. “I cannot be with you. Not until I find a way to withdraw the betrothal—” 

“Josephine—” 

She draws away and resumes her feverish pacing. She spins about her chambers, hand gestures punctuating every word. 

“It was done without my permission, without my _blessing._ My mother assumed I was free, that I was willing, she never even _spoke_ to me… Almost a year with no correspondence, then to drop the announcement on me unasked?” She crosses her arms, fingernails digging into her skin. “It’s preposterous. I feel… used. Like a bargaining chip.” 

Josephine looks across the room at Solas. He stands silently, half-turned away from her, illuminated in gold by the flickering flames of the hearth. Tension coils in his body, she can see it in the muscles beneath his tunic. One hand is balled into a fist. 

He is… angry? On her behalf? 

“I will unravel this soon, I promise,” Josephine says. “I will send messages tomorrow, but the betrothal will remain official until both parties agree to its dissolution.” She pauses, hands dropping to her sides. “I don’t want it to end this way. But it’s not an end, I promise you—” 

“You should accept your betrothal.” 

Josephine’s eyes widen. “What?” 

“Imagine, for a moment, that I am not here, that I never was here—” 

“—no—” 

“Josephine, please.” His eyes find hers, ancient and wise and sad. For the first time in many months, for the first time since Haven, really, she senses how far apart their worlds truly are. “Imagine that I am not an accidental factor in your life. Would you be happy with this arrangement?” 

“I…” She pauses. 

_“Please.”_

She closes her eyes and nods, accepting his wish. “I would know it’s expected of me. In Antiva, the children of nobility are often betrothed at their parents’ behest. Political arrangements secure stability, fortune… I would still complain to my mother for not speaking with me first, but yes. Were you not here, I would accept.” 

He nods. He still refuses to look at her. 

Josephine crosses the room and seizes his hand. She holds it tight, clutching his hand within hers like a lifeline. “But you are here. You were always here. I don’t see the point in hypotheticals—” 

He brushes hair behind her ear. “You don’t understand.” 

“What don’t I understand?” 

He exhales. “This was always an impossibility, Josephine. It was fortune and recklessness that brought us together. There was never a question about whether it would end, only _when.”_

Josephine freezes, her stomach dropping. “What do you mean? What – what are you talking about?” She asks it, though she already knows. 

“I mean you cannot fight the inevitable.” He presses a hand to her cheek. “No matter how much you desire to.” 

Her breath trembles. “You knew that, and you began it anyway.” 

“I took a risk. A gamble. We both did. I did not realize that we, that I—” 

Solas falters. Josephine rarely heard him stumble over his words, and the misstep stands out to her like a stark wound. He pulls away, his hand leaving her grasp. 

“It is for the best that I leave now,” he says. “For good. I have distracted us from our duties, from our focus. And you, my dear, dear lady Josephine, will always put your family first. It is one of your many admirable qualities, how hard you fight for them, even when certain members prove less than commendable.” 

He bows his head, his bare feet padding across the room to the door. Josephine is rooted to her spot. There is a void, a hungry, empty void, in the pit of her stomach. She is shaking, her eyes stinging. 

“You’re a coward!” she calls to his retreating back. 

Solas stops feet away from the door. His back remains to her. 

“I know.” 

“A _coward,”_ Josephine says, spite and bitterness curdling her words. “I didn’t tell you this so you could run away, I told you because I care about you and you needed to know. I never thought this would push you away. I never thought you were the kind of man who drops all responsibility the very moment a complication arises.” 

For a moment, the ghost of a retort whispers across his lips, a keenness flashing in his eyes—she expects him to argue, expects him to throw her words back at him, to stand his ground, to fight. 

But he doesn’t. 

He merely nods, sadly, shoulders slumped, defeated. 

“Unfortunately, that is what I am,” he says. “If I was forthwith, you would have seen it immediately. I am still surprised you did not from the very first moment we met.” He smiles quietly, sadly. “I do not want to hurt you. I treasure what we shared, Josephine. I wish we had happier days ahead, but it is better this way. We were always hurtling towards an end.”

He turns, back straight, head bowed, and slips through the door into the darkness beyond. Josephine stands in their room—her room—arms folded tight around her body. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees his overcoat, still slung over the couch. He has forgotten it. She reaches out to touch it, but her hand drops. She doesn’t want it. She doesn’t want it here, in this room. 

The fire in the hearth roars. 

Thunder booms. 

Rain pelts the windows.

A deep, bone-chilling cold settles in, and finally, the tears fall from her eyes.


End file.
